


Inktober Drabbles 2017-2018

by HeidiBug731



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Inktober, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiBug731/pseuds/HeidiBug731
Summary: A collection of short stories around 600 words written for Inktober and inspired by Tumblr submitted prompts. Primarily features Solavellan, but includes a number of other pairings, such as but not limited to Leliana/(f)Tabris, Cassandra/Varric, and Fenris/(f)Hawke.





	1. “We shouldn't drink like this.” (Fenris x fHawke)

The night her mother dies is the worst of her life.

She failed. She knows she did. And returning home to an empty mansion is proof enough of that.

Her father, Carver, Bethany, and now her mother. Is this all life has to offer her? Taking her loved ones from her one by one until there’s no one left? Until she realizes she isn’t as strong as she thinks she is?

And then what? Is she supposed to succumb to it? To crumple and admit defeat and never get up?

It’s certainly what she feels like doing.

Sitting on her bed and staring into the fireplace, she tries to let her mind go, to dissolve into an abyss that will swallow the gaping wound inside of her.

It’s Fenris’ footsteps that call her back, the soft clearing of his throat, the low rumble of his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, but… I am here.”

She turns her head to look at him, and part of her wants to scream, to tell him to leave and never come back.

But it isn’t him she’s angry with.

He sits next to her on the bed, and more comforting than the idle chit chat they try to fill the silence with is his presence.

When he shows her the bottle of alcohol he brought, she eagerly removes the cork and chugs more than she should. The burn in her stomach is a fine welcome to the dull ache it replaces.

Fenris drinks too. And she’ll never remember how it started, but at some point they are yelling at each other, then throwing punches.

She busts open her lip with the ferocity in which she kisses him. They tear their clothes from each other, followed by rough and unsatisfying sex. The night leaves them bruised all over and with skin rubbed raw in tender places.

The morning is just as unforgiving, pounding headaches plaguing them both. They search the kitchen for a few folk remedies and water before retreating back into bed, pulling the covers over their abused bodies.

They huddle close, clinging to each other.

“We shouldn’t drink like this,” Fenris says.

“Never again,” she agrees before kissing him.

He kisses her back, eagerly and with no resistance, as though the night he left her never happened, as though they were simply picking up where they left off.

She doesn’t know what this means. She knows she wants him more than she has ever wanted anyone else. But she’s a living train wreck, a curse on anyone who gets close.

And he will leave again, she’s sure of it. Once the headache is gone, once they abandon the comfort of the bed, reality will set in and things between them will be just as they were before.

But nothing will be the same for her ever again. Her mother is dead. And once he leaves, she’ll have nothing but the lonely mansion walls and comfortless fireplaces to console her.

She buries her face in his shoulder, biting her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears.

His arms fold around her. “Hawke.”

His voice shakes her, sending her trembling. The dam breaks, and she sobs freely. Fenris holds her tight, and she fears he’s the only thing keeping her from falling to pieces.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks him when her tears subside. “How do I keep going? How do I carry this?”

“With me.” He presses kisses into her hair. “With Varric, and Bodahn, and Aveline, and Merrill, and Isabella.” He pulls back from her, lifting her chin so her watery eyes meet his. “We are here for you. You are not alone.”

There is something in his eyes, a strong certainty, that she clings to.

When he finally leaves her, she continues to hold on to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my own personal headcanon that Fenris and Abigail spend the night together after Leandra’s death. Also that they are both terrible sad drunks.  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/165933360903)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	2. I'm a wolf. You're the moon. (Solavellan)

She sits as still as a statue at the edge of camp, moonlight outlining her silhouette in a silver highlight.

He approaches her slowly to avoid disturbing her, but he may not have needed to bother. Even after sitting in the sand next to her, she doesn’t move a muscle.

“Still awake?”

She jumps and glances around them.

He laughs at the confusion on her face. “I believe Red Templars could have attacked the camp, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

She nudges him with her shoulder and returns her gaze to the sky. “I was watching the moon.”

“I can see that.” His gaze is on her, on the way the moon light lights up her face and places stars in her eyes.

“I’ve never seen it so clear. It’s beautiful.”

 _You’re beautiful_ , he thinks to himself. But he tears his eyes from her to look at the sky. “Have you heard the story of the woman whose face is etched in the moon?”

She turns to him and shakes her head. “Is it elven?”

He nods. “Evune and Fenor were lovers and attendees to the gods. Their lives were blessed, but they wanted more. So they sought to steal the power of the gods. When they were caught, Mythal was merciful. She convinced the rest of her kin not to kill the couple, but to cast them from the elven empire and strike them mortal, so they could live out their remaining years in exile but together.”

Her eyes bore into him, rapt with attention, and he can’t help the smile that twitches his lips or the warmth that seems to fill him..

“But Evune and Fenor resented their punishment and sought even more strongly to steal the power of the gods. When they nearly succeeded a second time, Mythal was not so forgiving. She returned to them their immortality but gave Evune to the moon and transformed Fenor into a wolf so he would spend every day hunting for her. And every night he would recognize his lover’s face in the moon and howl for what would be forever beyond his reach.”

She waits a few heartbeats to make sure he’s finished, and he feels each one like a tug on his conscience, telling him he’s been staring into her face far longer than he should.

“That's… terribly sad,” she says when he tears his gaze away. “I’ve never heard that story.”

“It is ancient.” He keeps his eyes on the sky. “Whispered in the Fade from the days of Elvhenan. A cautionary tale about greed… and accepting the life the gods have granted you.”

“I enjoyed it.”

Her hand seems to reach for his but stops short, her fingers laying in the sand next to his.

His eyes meet hers again and he knows, as perhaps he has always known, that these feelings that twist him around every time he looks at her are not one sided.

He climbs to his feet. “I suppose… if you’re going to be up anyway, you wouldn’t mind taking my watch?”

She smiles. “Only so long as you don’t mind the camp burning down while I’m oblivious to it all.”

He chuckles. “I’ll take that chance. Goodnight, _lethallan_.”

“Goodnight,” she says as he walks away, and he notes the slight disappointment in her tone.

He returns to his tent and lays on his bedroll with a heavy breath. He cannot encourage these feelings between them. It would not end well.

But the harder he tries to keep her from his mind, the fonder his heart seems to grow. Some part of him knows that if he were to chase her and lose her, she would be worth it.

She would be worth howling at moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by one of my favorite songs on my Solavellan playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k36vCTmDZog)   
>    
>  [Based the legend very loosely off of #1 in this list](https://exemplore.com/misc/10-Interesting-Myths-and-Legends-About-The-Moon)   
>    
>  [Names in the legend from Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050/chapters/9995180)   
>    
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/165970511751)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	3. “I’m not short.” (Varric x Cassandra)

Varric climbs onto the kitchen counter, hoisting himself up on his arms.

Cassandra sighs. “I wish you’d use a step ladder.”

“I’m not short,” Varric tells her. “Human cabinets are just too damn tall.”

“It’s not a matter of your stature,” she tells him. “One of these days, you’re going to break something.”

As if on cue, his foot connects with an item on the counter, sending it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. Only when he turns around does he realize what it was.

“Oh, no.”

Cassandra comes around the corner and brings her hands to her mouth.

“Cass, I–”

Her eyes rise to his and the hurt and anger in them jars him, as sharp and piercing as though he’d stepped on the ceramic shards on the floor. She turns from him and runs out the front door of the apartment.

Varric climbs down from the counter top. and drops to his knees before the broken mug. The mug Cassandra drank coffee from every morning. The mug that had belonged to her brother.

He’s in trouble, big trouble. And he has no idea how to make it out of this one.

* * *

Cassandra returns home after a handful of hours. He does not go to her, even though he wants to. He’s made that mistake too many times to know they’d only end up fighting. And the last thing either of them needs is another screaming match.

So he shuts himself in his office. Instead of working on the chapters his publisher demanded, he lays the pieces of Anthony’s mug across his desk and tries to put them back together.

It’s far more complicated work than he imagined. The large pieces go together easily enough, but some of the smaller pieces are tiny as flakes. There are many moments when he throws his hands up in frustration. Even after gathering the proper equipment - headlamp, self-held magnifying glass, tweezers - the work seems impossible.

He only realizes he fell asleep when Cassandra wakes him the next morning with a shake of his shoulder. His forehead aches with his headlamp still attached, its batteries now drained.

He looks at his unfinished work and sighs.

“You were trying to put it back together?” she asks.

“Still trying,” he tells her, rubbing his tender forehead. He can only imagine the rectangular mark the headlamp has left.

Cassandra says nothing as she surveys his work, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. “It shouldn’t mean as much to me as it does. It’s only a cup, and it was an accident. But it’s one of the few things I have left of him.”

“I know.” He watches her as she sighs and bows her head. “Are we… okay?”

Her gaze darts to the mug and its remaining pieces before returning to him. “Will you buy a step ladder?”

He nods. There’s no point fighting her. He’s not even sure why he fought her so hard in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t give up his Dwarven pride a long time ago. “I’ll buy a step ladder.”

“Then we’re good.” She stands and heads toward the door. But she comes back and places a hand on her shoulder. “Varric, thank you. It means a lot that you’re trying to fix it.”

She leans down and presses her lips to his.

It surprises him because he can feel in the weight of it that it’s more than just a placating kiss, more than something she’s doing because she think she should.

He slides a hand to the back of her neck, urging her closer, because there’s real love there. And he’s not sure when they started forgiving instead of fighting.

“I hate you,” she mutters against his lips.

“I hate you more,” he replies before capturing her mouth.

“Stubborn dwarf,” she breathes. 

“Foolish human.”

She pulls him out his chair, and they make their way toward the bedroom.

Anthony’s mug would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Varric and Cassandra having this dysfunctional relationship where they fight and make up a lot. But over time they put in the effort to be more forgiving toward each other, and they use those previously hurtful phrases to mean “I love you” and “look how far we’ve come.”  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166006202144)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	4. Dread Wolf Take You! (Fenris/Hawke)

Fenris fixes his gaze on the figure in the distance and tightens his fingers around his sword.

 _Fen'Harel_.

At last, it will end. Finally, this insane war will be over.

He charges forward, and a blast of air knocks him off his feet.

He stands to find Lavellan between himself and his target.

“We’re not here to kill him!” There’s a demand in her tone, an order, likes he’s just another soldier of her Inquisition.

But he’s not.

“Aren’t we?” He picks up his sword and holds it at the ready. He doesn’t want to fight her, but he’s not sure he’ll have a choice. “What do you think are our alternatives? That he’ll stop just because you ask?”

Lavellan’s history with Fen'Harel has always troubled him. But she was upfront about it, promised her feelings would not get in the way of what had to be done. Now he knew he was right to worry.

“Just give me a chance.” Her voice wavers, the commanding tone gone.

“And you think somehow this time will be different?” He shifts, trying to find a better angle, to see their target over her shoulder. But she moves with him, blocking his path.

“You were together for nearly a year!” he tells her, his frustration mounting. “Could you stop him then? When he told you his plans? When you found him in dreams? What makes you think he’d listen to you now?”

She looks away from him, her face twisted in pain.

He ignites the lyrium in his skin, phasing past her. On the other side, his feet connect with solid ground, and he charges again.

Something icy cold shoots through him, the shock knocking him off balance. When he recovers, the Inquisitor stands before him once more, her staff glowing with winter energy.

She knows how to Fade Step.

“We are _not_ here to kill him!” she says again.

“People have _died!_ ” he shouts at her, spit flying from this mouth. “Countless others will follow!”

“I can stop it.” But her voice is high pitched and desperate.

“Then stop it.” He steps to her side, pulling her spirit blade hilt from her belt and shoving it into her hand.

She looks back at him, her gaze hard and determined. “I will not strike him down.”

“Then allow me to do it.” He gestures behind them where they left their party members. “Allow anyone to do it.”

She hesitates, and a smell fills the air like the coming of a storm. “No.”

Lightning fires at his feet, blasting him into the air. He lands on his back in the hard dirt, and maybe he hits his head too. Because when he stands, Hawke is in the Inquisitor’s place and smiling at him.

He shakes his head, and it’s only Lavellan again.

He hesitates as he grips his sword. He can’t fight her. One to one, he could never win against Hawke, not if she truly give her all. And Lavellan is like her. Strong. Powerful. One of a Kind. And from the hard look on her face, she has no intention of backing down.

He would not win.

Part of him is tempted to try anyway. Why fight for a cause if you’re not willing to die for it?

But something tells him Hawke would not approve. She would want him to find other ways to help.

That doesn’t mean he’s happy about the situation.

“Mages,” he says. “You think the world is your personal playground. Well, it isn’t. People live here – _we_ live here!” He points at her. “You don’t get to pursue your personal agenda and ignore how it effects everyone else.” He spits at the ground. “Dread Wolf take you both.”

He turns around and walks away, well aware of the pun he just made.

He meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s a lot of people hoping Fenris returns for DA4, and I really like the idea. But I think he and my Lavellan would have a problem.  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166041085267)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	5. And now for some breakfast. (Merrill x m!Hawke)

The first night after Merrill moves in with Hawke, she’s awoken to lips kissing all over her face.

“ _Vhenan_.” She presses against Hawke’s shoulders, pushing him back. “What are you doing?”

“Waking you up.” He presses his lips against hers, and she sighs.

She’s rather inclined to strip him of his underthings.

But he pulls away from her. “Come on, it’s time for breakfast.”

She takes his hand. “Couldn’t we have breakfast after… other things?”

“Mmmm…” He comes back to her.

She wraps her arms around him.

He kisses her again, then jolts away. “If we stay in bed, it will be too late for breakfast. Come on!”

She sighs as he leaves, but she does enjoy the view. Once he’s gone, she puts on a robe and joins him in the kitchen where he’s working with milk, butter, flour, and eggs.

“It’s a Hawke family tradition,” he tells her. “On special occasions, we always have oven babies.”

She blinks. “You… put babies in an oven?”

Hawke laughs, loud and booming. She loves his laugh, how it fills her ears and her heart. She loves too that he thinks she’s funny, that he never makes her feel self conscious for asking stupid questions.

“That _is_ a really terrible name, isn’t it? Hmm… have you had pancakes?”

“Maybe? Are they anything like hearth cakes?”

His brow furrows. “I don’t suppose you eat them with sugar?”

She shakes her head. “Preserves.”

He shrugs and returns his attention to mixing. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The kitchen smells wonderful as the batter bakes. When it finishes, Hawke removes a golden cake that has puffed higher than the pan it sits in. It deflates as he carries it to the table, hot steam rising from it.

“My family always eats them with sugar and lemon juice, but I found some preserves if you’d prefer.”

“It looks nothing like a baby,” she tells him as he passes her the knife.

He nods. “We’ll have to think of a better name.”

The cake is crunchy on the outside and doughy in the middle. She prefers it with the preserves but tries it Hawke’s way as well. It’s delicious all the same.

“How does it compare to hearth cakes?” he asks her.

“It’s nothing like hearth cakes,” she says. “Hearth cakes are flat and thick and they have… halla milk.” She looks down at the “baby” on her plate, and suddenly it seems lacking.

“What is it?” Hawke asks.

She sighs. “I miss halla milk. After the clan lost its halla… It has a very distinctive taste and, well, I don’t know what kind of milk humans drink, but it’s not the same.” She looks up at him, and he seems thoughtful and sad. “I didn’t mean to ruin breakfast! Really, this is lovely. Thank you for making it.”

He smiles and slides his hand across the table to hers. “You could never ruin anything, Merrill.”

She smiles at him in thanks, but she’s not sure she agrees.

Between the two of them, the “baby” is devoured.

“It was very good,” she assures him once they’ve finished.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He puts their dishes away. “Are you up for a stroll through the market?”

“Is there something you’re looking for?”

He grins. “If the love of my life wants halla milk with her… ‘puff cakes,’ then with the Maker as my witness, I will find you halla milk.”

She smiles so wide she’s certain he can see all her teeth. “You really think you could find some?”

He raises his right hand, and puts the other over his heart.

She runs to him and kisses him.

He kisses her back, sliding his tongue into her mouth and wrapping his arm around her waist. He tastes of sugar and lemon, and halla milk doesn’t seem so important right now.

She trails her fingertips up and down his arms. “Do you think before the market we could…?”

“Absolutely.”

He picks her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist as she kisses him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll let the reader decide if they go upstairs or stay in the kitchen.
> 
> Afterwards, Hawke sets up a rather complicated and expensive business agreement with a merchant to regularly import halla milk.
> 
> “Oven babies” is the Thedas name I came up with for what I know as “Dutch babies” or “German pancakes.” They puff up and look delicious, and I have never made one but I really should.  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166075594125)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	6. Keeping in touch (Leliana x Warden)

Cassandra would kill her if she knew she’d always been in contact with the Hero of Ferelden. But like Varric, she was protecting the one she loved.

She sends love letters, stamped with the usual Inquisition seal. She scents the paper with perfume or wine, hoping the smell will last.

She receives love letters, sealed but without insignia, and unfurls them to find her love’s dirty fingerprints at the edges of the parchment.

She sends her next letter with an imprint of her lips.  

Her love sends back the same, and she traces her fingertips over those perfect shapes.

She wonders how her love managed it out on the road. Surely there was no lipstick to be found. Perhaps flower petals ground into a paste? Any smell has dissipated, so she can’t be sure.

She locks her love’s letters in a chest – butterflies captured in a jar. And from time to time, she takes them out and reads them again and daydreams about happier times.

But letters, however dear, cannot substitute for flesh and blood or her love’s tender voice. There are things she did in the name of the Divine, things she does in the name of the Inquisition. Dark things. Things that take a toll, that shift her nature, that make her someone she does not want to be.

Her love’s letters become painful, reminders of a part of herself she hasn’t seen in a long while, of a beautiful future she isn’t sure exists for her anymore. Eventually, she stops opening the chest. She leaves the words of her love – the laughter, the joy, and the butterflies – locked away where they hurt less.

She has no one to turn to. She is the Inquisition’s Spymaster, and the ruthlessness required to do the job well does not come from love or compassion. It’s better to distance her from everyone and everything. It’s not what she wants, but it makes things easier.

The Inquisitor’s prodding and their insistence that she can aim higher annoys her. When Butler betrays her, when she fails to discover the danger at Haven, when she holds her knife to Natalie’s throat – she knows what she has to do. But it is the Inquisitor who always pulls her back, who tells her she doesn’t have to sacrifice her morals or her people to do what must be done.

She can do more, _be_ more, and still do her job well.

It’s difficult for her to listen, even more impossible for her to believe. But she is the Inquisition’s agent, and as with the Divine she follows the orders she’s given.

And as before, it’s those orders that shape her, that slowly shift her back to center. For the first time in a long time, she finds the part of herself she thought she’d lost. And when the Inquisitor shows her a letter in her love’s handwriting that was never meant for her eyes, she bursts into tears.

_I beg you, if she is faltering, help her find her way back into the light._

She takes the letter and kisses that beautiful sentence. With the Inquisitor’s permission, she adds the letter to her chest. Throughout the long days, weeks, and months, she keeps that letter on top to remind herself.

Her love has been with her all this time and still is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166109561115)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	7. Teach Me (Leliana x Warden)

Leliana slips love notes into the pages of her diary. She revels in their penmanship, in the sweeping curves and slender letters.

Leliana's words are perfectly spaced. Her lines don't slant on the page. Sharp corners draw attention to important letters. Her writing is so perfect and pristine, it pains Liara to look at her own script, the sloppy shapes, the hopeless slanting, the smudges of ink.

She's almost too embarrassed to ask her lover, “Would you teach me? To write like this?”

Surprise passes Leliana's face, then she giggles. “My training took months. Where would we find the time? Or the parchment?”

Liara sighs in disappointment.

But Leliana wraps an arm around her. “Maybe you could chose one aspect and we will focus on that?”

Liara points to the majestic curls that precede each capital letter. “I want to learn how to do that.”

She flips to the end of her diary where she's tried to practice, but her curls come out as squiggles.

Leliana guides her to the campfire where they sit. Her lover takes her hand in hers, and all thought of the letters leaves her mind. There is nothing but the beauty of Leliana's fingers as they curve around hers. There is nothing but the pressure of her lover's fingertips guiding her hands in such smooth gentle movements.

She no longer wants to learn.

Leliana laughs and scolds her as she trails kisses along her neck. “You are a terrible student.”

They make love in Leliana's tent and then begin the lesson anew, Liara practicing in her diary while Leliana draws the curls into her skin with ink.

“So you'll remember,” she says.

She does remember. Every time they're in the field and she slays a darkspawn and looks down at her wrist, she remembers. Every times she pulls on new socks and sees her ankle, she remembers. Every time Leliana touches her with those nibble fingers and presses a kiss into her skin, she remembers.

And as her writing changes, she realizes Leliana's does as well. The words in her love note become looser, more widely spaced. Her i's are dotted in playful circles. Any jagged edges disappear, are smoothed out, subdued.

Leliana smiles and laughs more freely, and the majestic curls in her letters disappear, no longer needed to impress.

But they draw those curls into each other's skin every night, imprint them with their fingers, tongues, and whispered breath.

Occasionally, they use ink.

And when Liara sees those markings on her lover or herself, she remembers:

 _T_ _his is what love looks like_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166143725663)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	8. Spring flowers blooming in the snow (Solavellan)

Inan sits on a bench in Skyhold’s courtyard, admiring the small patch of wild flowers that have found the resolve to burst through the snow – the very first sign of spring.

As majestic as Skyhold is, she’s hated its cold. Seasons come and go, and she appreciates winter during its time and place. But the mountains are nearly always covered in snow. What she wouldn’t give for the sight of green trees that weren’t evergreen. How she’s cursed the drafty windows of her room. How it’s saddened to her walk out the door to the same never-changing view of white.

She can’t express how happy she is at the sight of that little patch of flowers. How it makes her think of the forest and all it’s greenery. How it takes her back home with her friends and family, with the ever-crackling camp fire and the singing of halla. Her entire spirit is lifted by those tiny inch-tall flowers.

She doesn’t notice when Solas sits down next to her.

“Amazing,” he says as he slides an arm around her. “How something so small can give such comfort.”

“Not really,” she replies, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Life is built on perfect little moments like these.

Perhaps he understands what she means because they sit in silence for a time.

“What was the Legend Mark the Avvar gave you?” Solas asks. “First-Thaw?”

She laughs. “Don’t remind me.”

“I find it perfectly fitting. You did melt the ice at the temple. And you complain a terrible amount about snow.”

She gives him a playful shove. “You know perfectly well I like snow. I just don’t like it sticking around forever.”

“And wouldn’t you like to see it _thaw_?” he smirks.

“You’re taking this a bit literally, aren’t you?”

“What’s your favorite season?”

She’s caught off guard by the question. Her first thought is spring, but that isn’t true. The budding trees and flowers are delightful for a time, but they aren’t truly what she loves. What she loves is that patch of defiant flowers in the snow.

“This,” she tells him. “This is my favorite season. When everyday has been cold and hard, and something peeks forth to remind you there’s so much more life to come.”

Solas stands from the bench and bends down for one of the flowers.

She nearly cries out against the thought that he’d pick it, but she should have known better. Solas’ fingers curl under the flower’s delicate petals. He lifts them ever so slightly, just enough to tilt them toward her so she sees its full face against the snow.

“The first thaw,” he says. “It suits you.”

She marvels at him, awash in the morning light, the snow and stone around him with the flowers at his feet.

If the cold of the mountains ever bothered him, he’s never said. She’s seen the chill of ice magic on his hands enough to imagine it isn’t an inconvenience.

He’s not unlike winter. Even her first impression of him was cold and harsh. But given the time to understand him, she discovered more hiding and waiting underneath – not unlike how those flowers must have hidden and waited for so long in the cold ground.

There’s beauty in winter too; snow, ice, and sunlight turning everything to crystal and glass. And she sees that in him. In his blue-grey eyes. In the sharp angles of his face. In his unapologetic truths. In his kind-hearted yet hardened resolve.

She hadn’t thought about it until now, but in many ways he’s just like winter, though she doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of him.

“If I’m the coming of spring,” she says. “And you’re the winter mage, what does that make us?”

He blinks, and a slow smile spreads across his face, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

She takes his offered hand, and he pulls her into a deep kiss.

He never tells her his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166199892578)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	9. Vhenan, that is my pendant (Solavellan)

“ _Vhenan_ , that is my-”

He does not finish his sentence. Can’t. Because she’s wearing his necklace… and nothing else.

It’s late, and the castle has fallen dark and quiet. Even so, he considers blowing out the candle for the sake of her modesty.

If he wasn’t frozen in place, that is.

She strides toward him, cool and confident, with the most flirtatious smile on her face.

He tries not to take in the view, knows he shouldn’t, but all will power has drained from him.

She laughs and says, “I thought my advances weren’t clear enough.”

He closes his eyes, though he can still see her in his mind. He presses back against his chair until the cushioning flattens enough for the frame digs into his arms – something, anything to ground himself.

“Oh, they were clear,” he admits.

“Really?”

He nods, focusing on the discomfort of his arms and not her.

“Then…” she says. “You aren't… uninterested?”

The hurt in her voice snaps his gaze to hers. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” She moves toward him, no longer seductive in her walk. She could be wearing clothes for all the casualness of her body language.

She _should_ be wearing clothes.

“Might we?” he suggests, dragging his gaze away from her to the nearest doorway. “Continue this conversation somewhere more discreet?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, and the movement brings his eyes back to her. She studies him, perhaps deciding whether or not she’s willing to give up the keen advantage she has over him in their current situation.  

At last, she nods and turns on her heel. He fails his resolve to not stare at her backside the entire way to her bedchamber. She sits on the bed and crosses one knee over the other. “So, you _are_ interested?”

She’s still naked, still beautiful, and he can’t stop his eyes drinking in the view. He wants nothing more than to pull her to him, to feel her skin against his, to take in the scent of her, to kiss places he hasn’t had the opportunity to explore…

He’s without the distraction of his chair, so he digs his nails into his palms instead. He takes a breath and forces himself to look away. “Very.”

“Then what is the problem?” she asks with annoyance.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me how?”

He hesitates and meets her gaze. “We don’t know how this will end, what will happen once Corypheus is defeated.”

She blinks. “We’ll be together, one way or another. Is that not what you see?”

“I…” He cannot put words to the doubt in his mind, not ones she will understand in any case.

She frowns. “When we kissed in the Fade, you said you needed time to think things over. After all the time we’ve spent together, are you saying you still…?”

He has no satisfactory answer to give her, and his heart breaks at the pain that crosses her face.

“Then why?” she demands. “Why start this at all? And even now, why continue it if you’re still not sure?”

Her anger fuels him, touches his own rage at himself, takes it and twists into a ball of fury.

“ _Because!_ ” he blurts, turning from her and storming toward the balcony doors.

He will not direct his anger at her, never her. This isn’t her fault.

He turns and paces in front of her, his gaze on the floor.

How many times has he had this argument with himself? He knows he should let her go. He knows he should never have let his heart grow so enamored in the first place.

But she _surprised_ him. She was everything he never could have expected, never could have guarded his heart against. By the time he realized he’d fallen it was too late. And every time he thought of walking away something within him tugged at him, beckoned him to stay.

He stops pacing and comes to rest in front of her. “Because,” he says calmly. “Because you make me believe… in the impossible.”

His voice shakes at the end, and he clenches his teeth. He realizes the whole of him is shaking. Even after he digs his nails into his palms again he can’t get himself to stop.

She stands from the bed and places her hands around his. Only then does his body calm.

“I love you,” she tells him. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” he says, the word spilling from him as easy as breath. “You know I do, _vhenan_.”

“Then what more do you need to believe?”

A simple question with a not so simple answer.

She smiles and raises a hand to his cheek to caress it. “Whatever you need, we can find together.”

 _No_ , he thinks. And then, _Maybe. Perhaps._

He turns his face into her palm and kisses it.

She slides her hand to the back of his neck, guiding him down to her lips.

Something within him shifts, as though his spirit jumps from him to entwine with hers. These are the moments when he’s certain, when he _knows_ they will make it through this. Moments he’ll look back on and question later. Moments that torment him and keep him up at night, never knowing if chasing her is a fool’s errand or the purpose of his life.

But for now, with the taste of her in his mouth and the scent of her hair all around him, he believes, as fervently as he has ever believed.

They are enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166518660253)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	10. You dare touch her! (Solavellan)

She’s been called many things. Child of Clan Lavellan. Herald. Inquisitor. Rabbit. Knife Ear.

She was the Lover of Fen'Harel. Carrier of His Mark.

Traitor was another. The night she wouldn’t kill the one she loved to save the world. The night she watched it all burn and held no regrets.

God Slayer is her new title as she hunts those who were released the night the Veil burst open.

She’s good at it too, far better than she thought she would be. Turns out gods bleed just like everyone else.

As for Solas? Well… he has his duty restoring the elven empire. And there is no place for her there, not among the returned ancient elvhen who will never see her as anything more than Fen'Harel’s pet.

She isn’t even welcome among her own people, the mortal elves who survived the destruction of the Veil and will never forgive her for her part in it.

No matter. She isn’t looking for redemption. Just Andruil, with her blade across her throat.  

Solas warned her against taking on the huntress too soon, and now she knows she’s waited too long. One does not hunt a hunter. The elven god has had too much time to observe the fall of her brethren, to plan how she might escape their fate.

And it is said her arrow never misses.

But there’s a transfer of power when one kills a god, and the God Slayer has tricks of her own.

Not that any of it matters when one foolish mistake sends her into a trap she should have seen.

Cockiness, that was the fault of the elven gods. They thought themselves invincible. And as she slayed one of them after another, she began to believe the same.

The only reason she isn’t dead is having the siphoned power of her previous conquests to counteract Andruil’s arrow.

And it still buries itself in her shoulder.  

She cries out and falls back against the stone wall of the ruin. A long, rumbling snarl fills her ears, and in a puff of swirling smoke, Solas appears before her.

Has he been following her this whole time?

“You dare touch her!” he growls into the empty ruin.

Andruil appears, stepping from around a corner, her bow strung and pulled taunt but pointed at the ground. “Fen'Har _e_ l,” she rolls the final vow off her tongue. “I didn’t expect to lure you here. Concerned for your pet, were you?”

God Slayer pushes herself off the wall and steps forward, fully prepared to push Solas aside and finish what she started. But she cries out in pain again.

The damned arrow feels like _burrowing_ deeper into her flesh.

Solas rounds on Andruil who raises her bow. “You may have trapped us behind the Veil long ago, but you’re not as strong as you once were.”

Solas’ body seems to shift, no longer solid, fading between elf and wolf. “You want to test that theory?”

She sees the trap before he does, jumping aside and using her god-borrowed power to deflect as Andruil looses another arrow in her direction.

It misses, but pain shoots through her shoulder once more.

Solas lunges at Andruil in a cry of fury.

God Slayer falls back against the wall. Taking the arrow in hand, she tries to pull it out but only seems to encourage it deeper, inching toward her heart. She curses, knowing she can’t fight like this.

But Solas can hold his own. He and Andruil dance around each other in a swirl of movement that’s impossible to follow. She doesn’t know if he fights as elf or wolf, or perhaps both. Each time she blinks he seems to have taken a different form, though it’s a wolf’s snarls that fills her ears alongside Andruil’s taunts.

It’s over far sooner than she expected, the wolf finally catching the hunter in its jaws. Andruil’s neck is crushed in a spray of blood, and God Slayer turns her face away.

Solas comes to her, himself again, his face full of tenderness and concern. His fingers brush the stem of the arrow in her shoulder, and she yelps.

“Stop struggling,” he tells her. “It’s meant to find its mark. You’re working it in.”

“Maybe we should let it.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine.”

 _Define ‘fine,’_ she thinks.

Is it fine that her own people reject her? Is it fine that her friends and family are dead because they put their trust in her and she failed them? Is it fine that the humans raised her up as a prophet of their god and she hasn’t been able to find herself since? Is it fine that she constantly longs for a future with the man she loves that each day seems less and less likely to come to fruition?

Is it fine that she doesn’t know why she fights anymore?

She struggles to free herself from him.

“Stop!” he says, grabbing onto her, refusing to let her go.

She bites her lip against the pain and tries to shove him away.

He uses his body weight to throw her against the wall. Grasping her arms in both hands, he pins them above her head. “Enough!”

She spits in his face.

She regrets it immediately and turns her head from his shock. Tears fill her eyes, and all notion of fighting drains from her.

Solas freezes the arrow in a blast of icy magic that burns as it shoots through her. She screams.

"I'm sorry!" A stream of apologies flow from him as he rips the encased arrow from her shoulder, then cauterizes the wound. “I’m sorry.” He soothes her shoulder with healing magic. Then he holds her and rocks her to his apologies. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She’s not certain he’s apologizing for the arrow anymore.

“I’m so tired, Solas.” She sobs into his armor.

“I know, vhenan.” He presses a kiss into her hair. “I know.”

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“I know.”

“I just…” She lifts her head and reaches for him.

He lowers his head to kiss her.

There is everything in that kiss – everything they were, everything they could have been, and everything they are. The thought of it makes her want to cry harder, and she fights against the sobs that threaten to take her anew, tears flowing freely down her face.

They sit together, still holding each other when darkness falls and well into the night. At long last he tells her,

“I’m tired too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166535671376)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	11. Vhenan, behind you! (Solavellan)

“ _Vhenan_ , behind you!” His words come out too late, and she falls. “No!”

Power bursts from him, and the battlefield erupts in ice. Frozen crystals sprout from the ground to spear enemies or encase them. He reaches for the power of the Fade, merging with it and waning from the physical world till he phases through the obstacles of the battlefield to join his lover’s side. He raises a wall of ice to shield her.

“ _Vhenan_ , are you all right? Are you hurt? Can you stand?”

She waves him off like he’s being fussy but struggles to climb to her feet. She winces and collapses.

Dorian’s fire magic and Cassandra’s blade finish off what remains of the bandits and demons… though Solas didn’t leave them much.

Dorian turns in a slow circle, useless flames at his fingertips as he surveys the destruction wrought by winter’s wrath.

“Remind me never to piss Solas off,” he mutters.

Cassandra shoots him a side glace. “You antagonize each other all the time!”

She has a point, but he doesn’t get to tell her. The wall of ice shielding Solas and Lavellan crumbles.

“Cassandra!” Solas waves her over. “Bandages!”

“I fine,” Lavellan groans against the ground.

“You are not fine, _vhenan_. Lie still.”

Cassandra joins Solas at the Inquisitor’s side, and Dorian sighs at his uselessness, turning again in a slow circle. He hadn’t realized Solas could expel power in such a wide breadth. Half a dozen bandits and demons defeated in an instant…

He approaches a crystal of ice entombing a man. The bandit’s mouth remains transfixed in a snarl, his blade raised above his head. But there’s something in his eyes, a glimmer of recognition, like he had only just begun to comprehend what was coming to him.

“Yes, well,” he says to the bandit. “I suppose there are worse ways to die.” Fire might be his specialty, but he wouldn’t recommend it as far as ends go. “You got off easy, let me tell you.”

“Can you stand?” asks Cassandra.

Dorian turns around as Lavellan struggles to her feet.

Her knees give out, and Solas catches her, holding her up. “You should rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” she tells him. “I want to–” She tries to push away from him, but nearly falls before he catches her again. She sighs. “Can we just… move away from here, please?”

They all give her a nod. She leads the way, hobbling toward camp with Solas at her side, his arm around her waist and his shoulder under hers. They argue, she insisting she’s not that bad off, and he insisting she is.

Cassandra falls back beside Dorian. “They’re adorable,” she says as she attempts to hide her grin behind her fingers.

“Oh, yes,” Dorian agrees with a mischievous grin of his own. “Quite.”

He isn’t sure who best to turn the situation against later. Either way, it’s the perfect fodder for merciless antagonization once they’re back at Skyhold. There’s no chance he’d let slip an opportunity like this to watch Lavellan’s cheeks or the back of Solas’ ears turn pink.

That is… at least…

He throws a glance over his shoulder at the bandit encased in ice. He’s too far away now to see the man with distinction, but he can clearly picture those eyes…

A little antagonization never hurt anyone.

So long as he remembers not to piss Solas off too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166780321832)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	12. I spy (Varric x Cassandra)

“I spy…”

Cassandra sighs. “I already told you, no.”

Varric scoffs. “And why not? It’s a simple game. It passes the time.”

“You only want to play so you can make fun of me when I can’t guess the object.”

Varric places a hand on his chest, his mouth open in mock shock. “Would _I_ do a thing like that?”

“You absolutely would.”

“Fine,” he says. “You can pick first.”

Cassandra shakes her head.

Varric grins and leans toward her. “Come on, Seeker. You know I won’t stop pestering you until you do.”

Cassandra scoffs, and his grin widens.

“Fine,” she says, the word thick with displeasure. “I spy…” She turns her head, searching the grounds of Skyhold for some object.

 _Don’t be so_ _obvious!_ he nearly tells her. It’d be too easy for him to follow where she looks and pinpoint the item she chooses. But he’s likely to earn himself a smack for annoying her further, so he adverts his eyes.

“Unruly,” she decides.

Varric looks up and sighs. “It’s Sera, isn’t?”

Cassandra gasps. “How did you know?”

“She wasn’t on the roof two seconds ago. You couldn’t have picked something more apparent.”

Cassandra scoffs again.

Varric gives a wave of his hand. “Beginner’s mistake. Try again.”

He stares at his knees while she chooses.

“I spy… something… made of steel.”

She’s kidding, right? She couldn’t possibly…

He casts his eyes around the courtyard, searching for something, _anything_ , that isn’t her sword or her shield or her breast plate.

He supposes she might be thinking of someone else’s sword, shield, or breastplate… such as all of the soldiers in the training yard.

“Choosing something that’s so numerous it takes the guesser forever to get around to kinda breaks the game,” he tells her. “Like, choosing a blade of grass and I have to find the specific one. The aim of the game is to be clever. Choose something obvious but in such a way the guesser needs to think it over.”

“You’re just complaining because I chose something difficult,” she says.

Varric sighs. “It’s your sword.”

Cassandra drops it.

He gives a laugh. “I’m not sure you understand how this game works.”

“You said you weren’t going to make fun of me!”

“Did I say that?” He raises two fingers to his temple, feigning confusion. “Hmm… that doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

Cassandra gives a groan of frustration and stalks away.

“Come now, Seeker!” he calls after her. “No one likes a sore loser!”

She freezes in place, clenching and unclenching her fists.

He wouldn’t tease her so mercilessly if she didn’t make it so easy.

She storms back to him. “You choose then, if you’re so good at it.”

He looks up into her face and grins. He has the perfect object in mind. “I spy something beautiful.”

She scowls. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I’m petty and like making you uncomfortable. And so you can’t follow my eyes and see what I’m thinking of.” Except she could. She really could.

She scowls deeper, a crease running down her brow.

He doesn’t stop staring at her as she turns away to survey their surroundings.

“The spring flowers?”

“Nope.”

“The… rays of sun over the battlements?”

“No.”

“The… snow?”

She turns to look at him. 

His smile stretches further across his face. She’s adorable when she’s frustrated.

“You’ll never guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166814380811)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	13. A Spider Friend (Cole)

“Someone is leaving peeled plums on the windowsill. It’s attracting flies.”

“Spiders need to eat,” Cole tells her.

“And healers need something to treat infected wounds. Like spiderwebs.”

Cole smiles. He likes the Inquisitor. She understands he only wants to help.

“I’d be mindful of the spiders,” she says. “Not everyone welcomes them, especially in a tavern. Wouldn’t want them to get squashed.”

He hadn’t thought of that!

So he watches, and when he catches some patrons trying to flatten a spider with their drinking mugs, he relocates the poor thing to the top floor. In fact, he gathers them all up there where there are no patrons to bother them, where they will be safe.

He has to get a ladder for the healers so they can reach the windows, but it’s only a slight inconvenience.

He watches the spiders closely from then on, making sure they are happily spinning their webs and not taxed by the healers’ constant gathering of them.

His charges appear well… except for one spider that doesn’t seem able to spin a proper web. Its strands of silk make a lopsided formation, more moon than web shaped. And though it has all its legs, they twitch oddly.

He collects the spider in his hands and relocates to the barrels in the corner so he can keep a closer eye on it. Perhaps it’s simply overworked. Perhaps some time away from the healers and competition from the other spiders will help it recover.

But several days pass, and he sees no change.

“What do you need?” he asks it. “How can I help?”

It doesn’t reply.

He can’t hear the hurt of animals or insects, not the way he can people. Try as he might, they remain silent.

But they do seem to sense _him_. A baby bird fell out of it’s nest inside the castle walls, and while others tried to catch it, it ran to him and chirped contently in his hands. A sick dog found its way into the tavern and curled up at his feet for a few days until it was well again. A halla walked right up to him and licked his nose.

Somehow, the animals know he holds only compassion.

But he has no idea what’s wrong with the spider.

“I don’t know what to do,” he tells the Inquisitor when he shows her the problem. “I can’t hear its pain.”

Lavellan watches the spider carefully. “Perhaps it just needs some help?”

She leaves and returns with a spool of thread. Borrowing his knife, she carves into the sides of the barrels, creating splintered edges. She weaves the thread back and forth, catching on the splinters, zigzagging this way and that until she has something that might be described as web-like.

Cole relocates the spider to the threaded web, and it seems happy there, spinning its silk among the cotton. Over time, a real web takes shape, no longer lopsided, no longer lacking. It is complete and whole.

“How did you know?” Cole asks.

“There was a time my clan camped near a patch of wild berries,” she tells him. “We put nets over them to discourage wild life from eating them. Turned out spiders liked the nets and spun their webs in them.”

“You helped,” Cole tells her. “It is happy because of you.”

She shakes her head and places a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “It is happy because someone thought to care for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166847263674)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	14. That is not the intended use (Leliana x femWarden)

Liara picks up the strange object on Leliana’s nightstand. It’s oblong in shape, solid, weighted but not heavy, and stretches the length of one and half hand sizes. It’s white in color.

She turns the object over and finds a rune cut into the surface in the middle. Pressing her finger to the rune, the oblong thing vibrates, and she drops it out of surprise.

Leliana giggles behind her.

Liara shoots a scrutinizing glace over her shoulder. “What is it?”

Her lover presses her fingers to her lips, presumably to stem another flow of giggles. “Give it here, you silly goose.”

Liara does, and Leliana presses against the rune to end the vibrating. “It’s a toy.”

Liara raises an eyebrow. “What do you do with it?”

Her lover rests the object against her chin while she considers. “Sit on the bed. Go on,” she adds when Liara hesitates.

Leliana climbs onto the bed with her, crawling over top of her so she lays down and catches her lips in a kiss. “It’s for… womanly activities.” She positions the object between her lover’s thighs and presses the rune.

Liara’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

Leliana kisses her neck, trailing upward to nibble on her ear. Her arm remains between them, holding the object steady. “Is this all right? Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” her lover gasps.

“Good.”

Leliana removes her hand, using her body to hold the object between them. They rock together, soft moans and sighs building between them, their clothing growing heavy with sweat.

“I like to imagine you on top of me like this,” Leliana whispers in her lover’s ear, sending her over the edge with a burst.

The cry out into each other’s mouths, rocking together until it’s too much and the object rolls from between them. They grasp at each other with needy hands, and come down from their high in tender kisses.

Leliana fumbles in the bedsheets till she finds the toy and turns it off.

“Where did you get that?” Liara asks, still on her back, unmoving.

“Oh, it cost a pretty penny.” Leliana cuddles against her.

Liara stares at her. “You’re not telling me the Divine commissioned a special piece from the Circle of Magi?”

Her lover smiles wickedly. “And what if I did?”

Liara stifles her laughter with the palm of her hand.

“I’ve found there are some Circles much less conservative than others,” Leliana continues. “And if the Divine can carry on an open relationship with her Grey Warden elven lover, then why can’t she commission a special piece for when said lover is away?”

“Wait,” says Liara. “How long have you had that?”

It’s not very often she sees Leliana bashful. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it… N-now that I do–”

Liara grasps her lover’s hand. “You know you can tell me anything. I’m glad you have something for when I’m not here.”

Leliana grins. “Or when you are?”

“That is… possible.”

Leliana laughs, kisses her, then stands from the bed and places the vibrator in a drawer. “You know, I could have one made for you.”

“No.” Liara shakes her head, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. How could she possibly keep something like that secret among her fellow Grey Wardens? Surely, they’d hear it or, Maker forbid, it spilled out of her pack. “No. I can’t even… just, no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166912088660)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	15. All Hallow's Eve (Thedas Halloween)

“I can’t believe you didn’t know about All Hallow’s Eve,” says Dorian.

“I suppose I did know of it,” Solas tells him, not looking up from his book. “Just not that it had a name… or that it occurred every year.”

Dorian shakes his head and turns to Lavellan. “This is what happens when you live as a hermit. We’re lucky he’s so civilized.” He walks away, still shaking his head.

“You really didn’t know?” Lavellan asks.

Solas stares at her. “You think I’d feign ignorance to give Dorian further opportunity to antagonize me?”

She laughs. “I suppose not. I just… one would think you’d have least seen the sky change color.”

“As I told Dorian, I have. I just didn’t realize the cause of it… or that it happened every year. Time takes on a different perspective when you… live alone.”

She cocks her head. “The Fadewalker didn’t realize the sky changing colors was due to spirits pressing against the Veil?”

Solas shakes his head. “I originally thought it a natural phenomenon through some projection of light. Spirits press against and crossover the Veil quite commonly, and no one’s ever noticed any strange color variations.”

“But you’re researching it now?”

He returns to his book. “Spirits press against the Veil in physical places where strong emotion lingers, most commonly war zones, which reverberate great sorrow or anger. The most common folk would notice about these areas is a slight tingling on their skin. That spirits would press the Veil in such large numbers as to change the sky colors and do so according to a time table goes against every way I know spirits to behave.”

“You must have a theory,” she says.

He sighs and turns several pages. “Some catastrophic event must have occurred, one that affected the entire world. And the devastation of that event is still felt on its anniversary, even though history may have forgotten it.”

“How could something like that be forgotten?”

He scoffs. “What hasn’t history forgotten? Unless you believe the Chantry tale that All Hallow’s Eve occurs on the anniversary of the first darkspawn.” He tosses his book to the floor. “Useless.”

“Can I help?” she suggests.

Solas shakes his head and chooses another book from his rather large pile. “I’d be irritable company right now, vhenan. Besides, a night during which spirits press the Veil? I’m sure some of our companions need you more than I.”

* * *

Sera has drawn the curtains over her windows and constructed a blanket fort in her room, complete with several pillows. A book and her bow sit at her feet.

“Two fold.” She gestures at the blankets forming a tent around her. “When the crazy stuff starts happening, I won’t see a thing.” She points in Lavellan’s direction. “And if any demon comes through that door, I’ll stick ‘em.”

“You plan to stay awake the whole night?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” says Sera, as though it’s a stupid question. “Normal people don’t sleep during All Hallow’s Eve.”

Downstairs, The Iron Bull has decided to drink himself stupid. “Demons can’t bother me if I can’t care they’re here.”

Varric has decided to join him, though more out of entertainment than fear. “It’s a lot of weird,” he says. “I didn’t know what to do with the changing colors in the sky _before_ there was a giant hole in it. Cards and drinks, I can handle.”

Blackwall shares his sentiment and has dragged Cole to join him at the table.

“You won’t be watching the festivities?” Lavellan asks.

Cole shakes his head. “Spirits pressing, wanting, yearning, desperate, trying to understand something they can’t. I don’t know how to help them. It’s more distressing from this side. I… I think I’ll just play cards?”

“I’ll drink to that!” says Bull, and he finishes off his tankard.

She leaves the men to their antics and catches Scout Harding outside the tavern. “Any concerns about tonight?”

Harding shakes her head. “Cullen has taken a regiment to Haven to deal with any demons that might break through the Breach. We’ve fortified areas with known rifts. And Cassandra is organizing a group here, just in case. Leliana’s had some trouble with agents who refuse to be out during the night, but–”

Lavellan laughs. “I meant personally.”

“Oh!” she blushes. “Well, no, Your Worship. I mean, the Breach does give one pause, but… my mother and I have watched the event every year. I’m not about to miss it now. I know she’ll be watching too.”

“No concern about demons?”

“My mother and I have never encountered any. Of course, the Breach might change that but… What about you? How do the Dalish treat All Hallow’s Eve?”

She hesitates. “The Dalish believe the _Leal_ _’_ _Enansal_ carries a great blessing. It is the one night of the year when our gods are briefly able to commune with us. The entire clan gathers to watch. It is said any clan visited by demons has been deemed unfavorable and must make reparations until the following year. Likewise, any individuals that encounter demons when the clan did not must spend a year in repentance.”

“Oh,” says Harding. “So, may I ask if your clan… ever encounter any demons?”

She smiles. “We did not. Though there was a group of brothers who snuck off during the festivities and came back with quite the story to tell… and a year of service to live out.”

* * *

 

Lavellan and Dorian join Vivienne on her balcony, the best place in Skyhold to view the sunset while they wait for the sky to darken. Dorian has placed three wine glasses on the banister. He holds a fourth in his hand.

“I’m surprised, Vivienne,” he says. “We all know you don’t like spirits. I thought for sure you’d be staying inside.”

She picks up the glass closest to her. “When the lion rears its head, my dear, one does not take its eyes from it, lest one wishes to tempt death.”

“Well said,” says Solas as he joins them.

“Did you find anything?” Lavellan asks him.

He shakes his head. “Theories, vhenan. Theories and no resources to verify them.”

She’ll ask him about those theories later. For now, she hands him a glass of wine and takes comfort in the arm he places around her waist.

A cry of awe goes up below them from the watching crowd in the courtyard brave enough to risk the event. The sky bursts in alternating colors of green, pink, red, orange, yellow, and all manner of colors in between.

“Fascinating,” Solas says in wonder.

Vivienne tsks. “I heard the most curious thing. Did our Fade _expert_ really not know about All Hallow's Eve?”

Solas sighs and ignores her.

Lavellan leans her head on his shoulder, feeling truly blessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Thedas has a Halloween called Funalis and is a remembrance day for the dead. I’m glad I didn’t look that up beforehand, or I may have never written this. Maybe Thedas can have two Halloweens?
> 
> Leal’Enansal – is taken from Project Elvhen and literally means “night blessing.”  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/166946701285)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	16. Long Red Dress (Varric x Cassandra)

The dress is deep red, the color of wine. Thin golden chains as slender as threads hang down her naked back. The dress clings to her curves, accentuating her hips and thighs before dropping to a puddle at her feet. The train is just long enough to catch one’s eyes on and then sweep one’s gaze back up for a second look.

She is exquisite, the picture of beauty, even with her crossed arms and hunched shoulders that make her look cold despite her long sleeves.

“Relax,” he tells her as he approaches. “You look fine.” It’s an extreme understatement.

“It is…” She hesitates, clutching her elbows with a grimace. “Uncomfortable.”

“You look amazing,” he reassures her. “Just loosen up a little. Smile.”

She sighs and drops her arms, straightening in a gesture he’s certain she’s practiced a thousand times in front of Josphine. She manages to relax her lips, even if she doesn’t smile. “Thank you, Varric.”

He offers his hand. “Come on. Ruffles wants to show you off.”

Cassandra takes his hand but digs in her heels when she realizes where they’re headed.

“D-dancing! No!”

“Come on, Inquisitor. You didn’t expect to come to the Winter Palace without dancing, did you?”

“I refuse!” She cries, trying to pull her hand from his.

He lets go of her but leans closer and mutters, “Everyone can see you.”

She straightens immediately, casting her eyes around the ballroom. Nearly every head is turned in her direction.

“Can you even dance?” she hisses at him.

He chuckles. “Oh, so you know everything about me, do you?” He picks up her train, places it in her hand, and leads her down the steps.

Her dress flows as though it were made of liquid. He’s certain Josephine choose the Inquisition’s black uniforms specifically to draw all eyes to Cassandra.

“Is a human and a dwarf dancing even allowed in Orlais?” she wonders just loud enough for him to hear.

“No idea,” he admits. “But a dwarf dancing with the Inquisitor? Absolutely.”

“And why is that?”

He places her hand on his shoulder, then takes her other hand, holding the train between their palms.

“Because she is the only one they wish to see, and he won’t block their view.” He gives her an encouraging grin. “Ready?”

She manages to grimace, and he hopes his insistence they join the dance floor wasn’t in error.

He steps off as the music starts, intending to guide her in a simple waltz.

She stumbles.

He tries to bend with her, to make it look somewhat intentional. “Just follow my lead.”

“I am not used to following,” she grumbles.

He gives a laugh. “Why, surely as a Seeker you’d been given orders before!”

She smirks. “My superiors would tell you I had a habit of not following them.”

“And all those dance lessons the Inquisition paid for?”

“Shut up,” she says, but she laughs. Her grin lights up her face.

He smiles at her, and the two of them turn about the floor as though it were the most natural thing.

 _See? Easy. Just relax and smile._ He doesn’t say it because he knows it’d break the ease for her if he did.

She is beautiful, and he hopes everyone sees.

And he hopes Cullen doesn’t mind him depriving him of the dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [inspired by toemiel’s beautiful fanart](http://toemiel.tumblr.com/post/151928914732)   
>    
>  [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/167158266144)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


	17. New Years Eve (Solavellan)

Her friends stand gathered around the television, watching the scenes from around Thedas as the entire world waits in anticipation to herald in the new year.

Lavellan extracts herself from the crowd to examine the remains of the buffet table. She stirs the crockpot and condenses the trays of food that sit half empty. It’s not odd, she tells herself, to pull herself away. She is the hostess, after all.

But of course someone notices.

“Everything all right?” Dorian asks as he approaches.

She smiles, catching how his question could be directed at her or the food. She doesn’t know if he gave her an out on purpose, but she appreciates it just the same.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“But?” he prompts.

She sighs and looks back at her guests smiling and sipping their champagne glasses. “It’s a little lonely without someone to kiss.”

“I’ll kiss you,” he offers.

She smiles again. “That’s sweet of you. But I think I’m just going to get some air.”

He flashes her a winning grin. In the past, it’s been enough to change her mind. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” He rejoins the group.

She shakes her head and completes her inspection of the food. Then she finds herself a glass of champagne, downs it in one go, and steps outside. She descends the stairs of her apartment building and walks out onto the sidewalk where she looks up at the stars.

It’s cold, enough that she should have brought a jacket. But it’s a welcome change of temperature from her stuffy apartment, too warm from so many bodies and too tight from her forced smiles. She takes in giant gulps of air.

A new year is supposed to symbolize a new beginning, a clean slate. It’s supposed to be a time of hope. But she finds it difficult to look to the future with any hope at all.

A footstep falls behind her, and she knows instantly who it is by the ache in her heart.

“Why are you here?” She doesn’t turn around. 

“I wanted to see you.” His voice is soft, barely audible.

“What difference does it make?” She can’t bury the bitterness in her voice. She’s been seeing him a lot lately, nearly every time she falls asleep. In person, it’s no less painful. It’s more so, in fact.

His footsteps fall closer, and he places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

Her resolve melts at his touch. She turns around and kisses him. He opens his mouth to let her in, and his arms come around her.

She told him she’d stop him. One way or another, she will not let him destroy this world. And her greatest fear is that he’ll make her do the thing she wants desperately not to.

She’ll die with him. She decided it months ago. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if it came to the worst.

Tears run down her face, and she tastes them between their lips. 

Fireworks bursting over their heads break them apart. For a few moments, they watch.

Solas’ hand on her cheek brings her back. He brushes away a tear. He does not smile, but his eyes soften. “Happy New Year, vhenan.”

She doesn’t let the dread fill her. She doesn’t let herself tremble with the fear of losing him. She pulls him toward her and kisses him again. She soaks in his presence, his warmth, his eagerness. She settles in his arms, against his mouth, allows herself the feeling of being safe and happy.

She wishes she could freeze time, that she could stretch this moment out forever. This is what she truly needs this new year.

Just the tiniest bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woke up on New Years last year and wondered what Lavellan was doing. Also, Dorian is the best damn friend.  
>   
> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/169227475997)  
>   
> [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
> 


	18. Ghost (fHawke & Anders)

The air in Ander’s clinic is different now. It raises the hairs on her skin, threatening and foreboding, waiting to crackle with unforeseen energy. And she doesn’t know if it’s all in her head or if it’s always been there, biding its time, and she hadn’t noticed until now.

“I’ve seen how you look at me,” he tells her, his voice coated in bitterness. “You don’t have to hide it. I know what you think.”

She doesn’t protest. There’s no point. Ever since he nearly killed that young mage, it’s like a fog was lifted around her eyes. And try as she might, she can’t put it back.

“I’m possessed!” He wheels around to face her, such anger etched in the lines of his features that she takes a step backward. “I’m the demon we all thought Merrill would become! Why tell me to stay if you think me a monster?”

“Anders,” she says hesitantly. And she realizes she’s afraid, afraid that one false word or gesture will set him off and there will be no return from it. “If we’re to help you-”

“Help me? Is that why you’re keeping so close a watch? Or did you just want me here so when I finally turn, you can end it?”

She can’t deny the thought crossed her mind. “Wouldn’t you prefer that?” she asks rather than lie. “Wouldn’t you want a friend to end it when everything of you is lost?”

“And what if it isn’t everything?” he asks.

“What?”

“What if tomorrow I kill a hundred templars and tell you it was me, that Justice only gave me the power to do what I couldn’t before?”

“Anders.” Her hand reaches out to him but doesn’t connect. “That’s what all the abominations have said right before they…”

He looks at her with cold piercing eyes, but says nothing. 

“I’m scared for you.”

She’s shaking but doesn’t realize it until he takes her still outstretched hand. His warmth calms her. And for a minute with her eyes closed, she can see him as he used to be, laughing and smiling, the subtle charm she had so easily fallen for radiating softly from him.

There is nothing of that man in the one before her. 

A tear runs down her cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb. As he fixes her with his gaze, she knows her presence here is just another source of his bitterness, another disappointment, something that only pushes him further down instead of helping him find his way out.

“I used to say to myself,” he tells her, still holding her hand. “If she looks at me like that one more time, I don’t think I can help but kiss her.”

Her lips part in a gasp. She had suspected but never acted. Would things have been different if she had? Could she have been that something more he needed?

His eyes are so cold she doesn’t know if his words are merely expressing a pain of his or if he means them to pierce her, to hurt her just as badly. “I suppose it’s for the best we’ll never find out.”

His hand slips from hers, and she knows she’s already lost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/176443124968)   
>    
>  [buy me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)   
> 


End file.
